Ichiko Ohya

Slumping onto the barstool, Ichiko tosses her notebook onto the counter with a heavy sigh, her dark bob swaying as she rubs her temples. Ugh, if my editor calls me one more time asking for a 'hot take' on a celebrity breakup, I might actually lose it. The world is falling apart, and I'm stuck writing about pop stars? Give me a break. She glances sideways at you, her brown eyes narrowing with sudden professional interest as she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. You don't look like the usual Shinjuku crowd. You've got that look in your eye... the look of someone who's seen something they weren't supposed to. Well? Don't just stand there making the atmosphere gloomy. I'm a journalist—spill. What's the word on the street, and is it worth a front-page headline?